Chapter 11
Lily
I’d been standing in front of the mirror for half an hour, my clothes strewn across the bed in full disaster mode. Piles of silk, sequins, and dry-clean-only labels stared back at me, none of them whispering “casual Sunday game night.”
Option one: jeans and a T-shirt. I tugged them on, glanced at myself, and instantly peeled them back off. Too plain. Too exposed. I hadn’t worn jeans without a blazer or heels since…ever.
Option two: Black cigarette pants, a sharp white blouse, leather pumps.
I slipped into it, smoothed my hair, and studied the reflection.
I looked like I was heading to a gallery opening, ready to talk about art that cost more than this entire town.
Not exactly the vibe for hot dogs and potato salad.
Option three: a silver spaghetti-strap slip dress I’d bought after seeing Gwyneth Paltrow wear one in Vogue. The satin shimmered under the overhead light, slinky and cool. Too slinky, maybe. I looked like I was auditioning for the MTV Video Music Awards, not walking into someone’s backyard.
I groaned, tossed it back on the pile, and padded over to the stereo.
My carefully curated mix CD clicked into place, and soon Tupac’s “California Love” was bouncing off the walls.
Perfect. I turned it up a notch and danced my way back to the mirror, shaking off the weight of the day with every shimmy of my hips.
Finally, I dug out a metallic blue halter top—backless, rhinestoned, pure Spice Girl—and paired it with black boot-cuts.
Strappy heels that threatened my balance, a velvet choker with a rhinestone heart.
Hair up in a claw clip with two strategic tendrils.
I leaned into the mirror to finish the look: frosted lavender shadow, dark lip liner, extra gloss.
I gave myself a final once-over, squared my shoulders, and let a smirk curl across my mouth. “Alright, Willowbrook. Let’s see if you’re ready for game night with me.”
A knock on the screen door jolted me from the mirror. I grabbed my tiny black purse, more suited for a nightclub than a backyard, and opened it to find Rachel grinning on the porch.
She was the picture of small-town casual: a faded Ohio State T-shirt knotted at her hip, cutoff denim shorts frayed at the edges, and brown leather sandals that had clearly walked every inch of Willowbrook.
Her hair was pulled into a messy half-up clip, a friendship bracelet sliding down her wrist. Effortless.
Annoyingly so, if I didn’t like her so much.
“Wow,” she said, giving me a once-over and letting out a low whistle. “Look at you, Harper. You're giving full Kelly Taylor from Beverly Hills, 90210. You’re gonna give half this town a heart attack.”
I gave her a little model walk and twirl. “Too much?”
Rachel grinned. “Careful. You’re about to have every eligible man in Willowbrook lining up.”
I snorted, reaching back to tighten the halter’s neck tie. “Oh, honey—please. It’d take a very special kind of guy to keep up with all this.”
Rachel chuckled and shook her head.
I smoothed the rhinestones at my neckline, letting them catch the light. “Trust me, I’ve dated enough to know most men tap out fast. They like the sparkle until they realize it comes with ambition, late nights, and opinions.”
Rachel barked out a laugh. “So… your type just doesn’t exist around here?”
“Probably not anywhere,” I said lightly, though a tiny truth tugged at me. Moving from foster home to foster home meant I learned early not to tie myself to anyone. Dating had always been fun on the surface, nothing I ever let get too deep. Easier that way.
But then, uninvited, my mind flicked to Ethan’s scowl from the other day. The way his gaze had lingered, sharp and unreadable. The way he didn’t flinch around my edges the way most men did.
Did he think I was just another city girl trying too hard? Or was there something steadier under all that grit?
The thought sent a warm, unwelcome thrill through me, a little jolt of confidence… and something far more dangerous.
Rachel let out a delighted laugh, looped her arm through mine, and steered me toward her car. “Then you’ll just have to accept compliments from the rest of us. And believe me, you’re getting them.”
We were halfway down the walk when Carol’s voice floated from her porch next door. She sat comfortably in her rocking chair, stem of a wineglass pinched between her fingers.
“Heading out, girls?” she called.
Rachel grinned, waving. “Cookout at the Weavers’. Promise I’ll have her back before midnight.”
Carol’s eyes twinkled as she looked at me. “You enjoy yourself, Lily. No work, no worries—just fun. That’s what summer nights are for.”
I pressed a hand dramatically to my chest. “Look at you, Mrs. Peterson—wise teacher by day, porch goddess by night. Seriously—how do I get even half of whatever you’ve got going on?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “Live long enough, sweetheart. It comes with the territory.”
Rachel tipped her head. “What about you, Carol? Big plans tonight?”
“Oh, I’m headed over to Arden Lane,” she said, waving a casual hand. “Going to eat too much popcorn with Margaret and watch a movie.”
Rachel smiled. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“And you’re lucky to have a night out,” Carol said, raising her glass in a small toast. “Go make some memories.”
I waved once more to Carol, a small warmth settling in my chest. It was just a neighbor on a porch with a glass of wine, nothing monumental, but it tugged at something in me anyway.
Growing up, porches were temporary and neighbors changed faster than seasons; foster homes didn’t exactly come with built-in community.
Still, I wasn’t about to sink into old memories tonight. I lifted my chin and let a bright smile slide into place. Whatever this town was, or wasn’t, I could at least enjoy the music and the company.
“Come on, Lily,” Rachel said, bumping her shoulder into mine. “Let’s go before the boys eat all the good food.”
I followed her down the walk, choosing fun over feelings, at least for the night.
***
Rachel’s old Honda rattled down Main before we even hit the edge of town, windows cracked to let in the warm evening air. The radio fought to pick up a station, half static, half Alanis Morissette. Rachel just slapped the dash like that would fix it and sang along anyway.
“So,” she said, eyes flicking toward me as we passed the last row of storefronts. “First official Willowbrook cookout and game night. You ready?”
I grinned, leaning my elbow against the window. “Honey, I was born ready. You're talking to a girl who's crashed parties from Manhattan to LA. Trust me, Monopoly doesn't scare me."
Rachel giggled. "Good. Because Weaver game nights? Think food chaos, feral children, and the fact that last month's charades nearly ended in divorce."
“Not exactly my usual scene, but I’m down for anything,” I said. “What about you? Have you always wanted to live here? Never wanted to see what else is out there?”
Rachel tapped the steering wheel with her thumb, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“Did four years at Ohio State. Thought about staying in Columbus, opening my own place there.
" She shrugged. "But every weekend, I'd drive back here.
My parents, my friends—they're all in Willowbrook.
" Rachel's eyes softened. "Cities are full of strangers. Here, I've got history."
I hesitated, my finger tracing an idle line along the window. “I can’t even imagine what that’s like,” I admitted, surprising myself with how raw the words sounded. “I’ve been bouncing from city to city for so long, I don’t even know what it would feel like to… stay. To belong somewhere.”
Rachel glanced at me, her brow creasing. “Sure, but that’s your career, right? You’ve gotta travel. What about your family? Where do they live?”
My throat tightened, and for half a second, I thought about telling her—about the constant moves, the schools I barely remembered, the way I’d had to learn fast how to win people over before I had to pack up and start again.
But the smile slid back into place like muscle memory.
“Oh, that’s a story for another time—and maybe several glasses of wine,” I said, tossing her a wink.
“Trust me, it’s not nearly as fun as it sounds. ”
Before she could press, I leaned in a little closer. “So, tell me about tonight. Who else am I meeting?”
Rachel smirked and reached for the radio dial, flicking stations as she glanced at me.
“Well, you already know Sarah and Maggie. Sarah’s husband, Matt—hot doctor alert, just so you’re prepared—but don’t be too impressed.
I also distinctly remember him eating construction paper in second grade. Very serious gourmet palate.”
I laughed, picturing it. “I’ll keep the paste away from him.”
“And then there’s their kids—Ava and Lucas,” Rachel went on. “Cute as can be, but I’ll be honest, I love them most in small doses. They’re four and two. You’ll see why.”
“They sound adorable,” I said, smiling despite myself.
“They are. And Maggie’s son Ian will be there too. He’s eight. A sweet kid, full of energy. Sarah said she hired Kayla to help wrangle them all so the adults can actually finish a sentence without someone demanding juice or threatening to toss the cat in the pool.”
“Oh, Kayla was amazing yesterday,” I said quickly, leaning back in the seat. “Carried more than I did and still managed to look cooler doing it. She’s got future CEO energy.”
Rachel grinned, lowering her voice like she was about to drop state secrets. “She’s the best babysitter in town. And, don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think she and Jason are kind of a thing. Started out as just friends, but please. I know these things.”
I arched a brow, grinning. “High school romance in a small town? Scandalous. Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. Well, unless someone bribes me with one of Maggie’s sundaes.”
Rachel laughed, tossing her curls back. “Oh, you’ll fit right in. Can’t wait for you to meet everyone tonight. Nate will be there—he owns the hardware store across from Calloway’s. Smells like sawdust and has opinions about literally everything.”
Then her tone softened just a hair. “And Ben—he teaches math at the high school.” She tucked a curl behind her ear, pretending it was nothing.
“Really good with kids. Smart. Dresses nicer than any teacher needs to.” She cleared her throat.
“Anyway. Half the girls in town are still in love with him.”
She flicked her eyes toward me, mischievous. “And, of course, Ethan. You’ve already seen his resting scowl in action. Don’t take it personally. He’s like that with everyone. Well, everyone except maybe the kids.”
I let out a laugh, twirling a strand of hair around my finger.
But the thought of Ethan being at game night sent a flutter of butterflies through my stomach, a rush of excitement I hadn’t anticipated.
I hadn’t realized I’d be seeing him again so soon, and I felt a mix of nerves and curiosity dance within me.
As Rachel turned her focus back to the road, I leaned my head closer to the window, watching the trees blur past. Nights like this—laughter, food, noise—were exactly what I needed.
Distraction. Movement. Anything but silence.
Silence had never been safe for me; silence meant empty rooms, new schools, faces that didn’t stick.
So, I’d learned to chase the noise, to build instant bonds, to make people like me before they could decide not to.
I didn’t know if these Willowbrook people would be around for the long haul, and maybe that didn’t matter. What mattered was tonight. Fitting in, even for a few hours. Belonging, even if it was borrowed.
I squared my shoulders and let a smile tug across my mouth. Whatever game night had in store, I’d be ready.